


Perfume

by jawsandbones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Warden dealing with insecurity, but Zevran is there!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: The Warden wants to be sure that his love won't leave.---A slight thing, a small thing, fragile and glass. He pushes at the bottle with the tip of his finger, watches it wobble slightly. A pretty enough bauble, he supposes, although he’s not quite sure it’s worth the price. Pushing it again and it threatens to tip, so he reaches out quickly, catches it in his hand. The liquid inside it sways, moves back and forth as he holds it in his palm. He’s sure it’s foolishness to even be considering it. Still – he looks over his shoulder to see Zevran leaning over the shop counter, elbow on the table and his chin in his hands, giving a gracious smile to the clerk. Rémi’s grip tightens on the bottle.





	Perfume

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lynngo-art](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lynngo-art).



A slight thing, a small thing, fragile and glass. He pushes at the bottle with the tip of his finger, watches it wobble slightly. A pretty enough bauble, he supposes, although he’s not quite sure it’s worth the price. Pushing it again and it threatens to tip, so he reaches out quickly, catches it in his hand. The liquid inside it sways, moves back and forth as he holds it in his palm. He’s sure it’s foolishness to even be considering it. Still – he looks over his shoulder to see Zevran leaning over the shop counter, elbow on the table and his chin in his hands, giving a gracious smile to the clerk. Rémi’s grip tightens on the bottle.

He moves along the shelves, and the floor creaks underneath his careful steps. He’s carefully looking at everything – the soaps, powders and potions – filling up the basket at seeming random. His ears twitch slightly, his full attention not entirely on what’s in front of him. More, it’s focused to what he isn’t looking at. The sound of Zevran’s voice, the laughter of the clerk, and Rémi tosses another bar of soap in. A quick glance over his shoulder, and she’s brushing hair behind her ears, cheeks flushed pink. Rémi resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he looks down at Brutus, sitting near him. The mabari notices the attention being paid to him, and his short tail begins to wag.

He thinks that perhaps Zevran will be too distracted to notice. He glances down into the basket, and turns the bottle of perfume with his finger. A ribbon around the stopper, liquid that swirls pink. Even if he does notice – why would he have to defend the purchase? The others buy things for themselves all the time. Alistair doesn’t have to explain his constant need for new socks, and so Rémi doesn’t need to explain his desire for this perfume. Even if he’s never bought perfume before. He shakes the thought from his head as he walks to the counter.

“Ah, my Warden. There you are,” Zevran smiles so widely, so warmly at the sight of him. His posture straightening, but still slightly leaning against the counter, he shuffles over to stand right next to him. “Marie was telling me about the most charming inn just down the street. The Dragon’s Rest. She is good friends with the owner and would be willing to give us a discount, should we mention who sent us.” He gives a quick wink in her direction, and she bites her bottom lip, her gaze flicking between him and the counter. She pulls things from the basket, writing them down as she goes. She’s startled slightly by Brutus resting his face on the counter, but smiles at the sight of him. All of Ferelden certainly does love their dogs.

“A warm bath would be to die for,” Zevran sighs. They’ve been long on the road. Sleeping in mud and tattered tents, trudging through brush and bog. Denerim is a welcome respite from it all. An inn does sound nice, and a bath even better.

“Thank you for letting us know,” Rémi tells her. He stresses the ‘us’. He isn’t sure if Zevran notices it, as he’s too busy watching Alistair fumble with a book in the corner. Pulling it from a shelf, and it slips from his grasp. Fluttering paper as it spins three times before Alistair finally catches it. He clutches it to his chest when he grabs hold of it, and whips his head around the store to see if anyone saw him. Zevran is beaming at him, and Leliana presses a hand against her temple. Rémi only gestures as best he can with a sharp flick of his head, to get him to put the book back. He does.

“If that’s all, it’ll be 3 gold and 2 copper, ser,” Marie says. Zevran is playing with one of the flowers in the vase on the counter, while Rémi reaches into his pouch. She’s placing all the items back into the basket, a flash of pink as she goes, and he puts the coin on the counter. She’s counting it up while Zevran carefully takes one of the flowers, turning it in his hands and hiding it behind his back as he stands up completely.

“Thank you,” Rémi says again as he takes the basket, gives her a polite nod. She returns it, before her attention returns to Zevran. He’s walking backwards beside Rémi, gives her a smile and a wave before turning around. Alistair and Brutus hurry after them, Leliana following behind. The door chimes as it closes behind them. Out in the street, Zevran stretches, arms in the air, and quickening his steps to catch up to Rémi.

“For you, Caro,” he says, presenting the flower to him with a flourish and half a bow. It’s a green daylily, one of his favorites, although he’s sure that Zevran doesn’t know it.

“It’s beautiful,” he says.

“I saw it, and I thought of you,” Zevran says. He wants to tell him that the petals remind him of his eyes, that delicate shade of green. That he noticed Rémi pays attention to lilies the most, whenever they’re around flowers, and that he knows he likes them best. Instead, he’s caught up in the soft way Rémi looks at the flower, looks at him.

“I don’t know how you can do that so easily Zevran,” Alistair says, calling out to them, catching their attention.

“Hmm? Do what so easily?” Zevran asks, raising his eyebrows slightly, and looking over at him. He walks a little slower to let Alistair catch up, and steps in time with him. Rémi softly sighs, abruptly reminded of it, and starts looking for a sign for the inn.

“ _That_.” Pointing a thumb over his shoulder, back in the direction of the shop. “Flirt,” he says with a sigh, an outward flare of his hands. Zevran throws back his head and laughs, wraps an arm around Alistair and pats his back sympathetically.

“You were listening in? My friend, it is a learned skill, honed by time and experience. And I have a lot of experience.” Satisfaction in his voice, given with a wink. “I would be quite happy to teach you, hmm? We will have all the ladies, or men, falling at your feet in no time.” The shell of Alistair’s ears burn bright red.

“I’m pretty sure half of Denerim could hear the way you were going on. And I don’t think I want you teaching me anything, thank you very much,” he tells him. Renewed laughter at that, another pat at his back, and his hand falls back to his side.

“I think it’s sweet that you don’t know how to flirt,” Leliana says. 

“Don’t say that. That only makes it worse,” Alistair says, a groan following his words.

“It is sweet! That way, when you do give a compliment and try to flirt, it will sound much more sincere than Zevran’s pot of honey,” she says.

“You wound me. You make it sound as though my honey is not sincere. I am _always_ quite sincere. I mean everything I say. I say you are handsome, and you are. I say Leliana is beautiful, and she is. I say I enjoy walking behind my Warden because of the way his ass-”

“Thank! You! Very much!” Alistair says, cutting in. Leliana laughs brightly as Alistair puts hands on Zevran’s shoulders, and pushes him back to Rémi’s side. He’s still grinning and Rémi can’t help but chuckle. His joy is always infectious. He’s still turning the flower in his free hand, lifting it up slightly and away from Brutus after he feels a curious and cold nose press against his knuckles. He’s almost relieved when he sees the sign – a dragon curled up around a bed. True to her word, all it takes it a mention of Marie for the price to be knocked down.

At their door, Rémi passes over things between Leliana and Alistair. A bar of soap for each of them, that powder that she specifically requested. The rest for Zevran and himself. Brutus is already stretched out on the bed by the time he steps inside the room, right beside where Zevran lays. His feet on the ground, but his body splayed out, as though half a star. “Ah, if only we could have a bed every night. What I would give to never sleep on the ground again,” he sighs as Rémi places the basket on the table nearby, the flower on top of it all. All it takes is a glance and a gesture to get Brutus off the bed and curling up by the door.

Fingertips tap against his knees. Moving up his thighs, a palm planted in the mattress by Zevran’s head. Leaning over him, straddling him, and he smirks as he lets his hands rest on Rémi’s hips. “Hello Caro,” he says in a low voice. Leaning over, and strands of Rémi’s long hair escape the braid and wisp around Zevran’s face. He doesn’t seem to mind, hands travelling over his back, as Rémi plants the kiss. Long and deep, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Hands on his face, cradling him tightly. He wants it to be enough. He wants to be enough.

Zevran’s looking for a way to keep him there, pulling at his robes, but Rémi abruptly moves away, stands instantly. “I should take advantage of the fact that we have a bath,” he says, watching as Zevran props himself up on elbows to watch him, “I feel filthy.”

“Should I join you?” he asks.

“Maybe next time,” he says, taking the basket with him as he slips into the bathroom. Opening the taps, he waits for the water to fill the bath. Putting the soap on the rack, the perfume on the counter. Standing in front of the mirror, Rémi undoes the braid and his robes drop to his feet. He twists a strand of his hair between his fingers as he looks at himself. Running his hands over the muscle that’s beginning to develop – one does not fight darkspawn constantly without some side effects.

Every part of him is rougher now, so far removed from his time spent in the Circle. There are barely any soft parts of him left. _I would say I prefer a soft and shapely woman_. He leans forward, runs a finger down his nose. Besides his hair, there’s no part of him that could be mistaken for a woman. _I have a lot of experience_. Zevran’s words, spoken in conversation, but words that Rémi can’t quite shake. Turning off the taps, he sinks into the water. Hair floats like tendrils all around him, and he reaches for the soap.

He nearly scrubs himself red, trying to wash away anything that might be unsatisfactory. Washing down to the very ends of his hair, soap on his face, under his arms. He dries himself easily, quickly, the magic heating underneath his skin. He takes the perfume from the basket. He’s not sure when he became so conscious of the way he looks. When he wanted to be better. A few drops on his wrists, at his neck. Enough for any to notice should they come near him. He only wants one to know. When he leaves the bathroom, he only has the towel wrapped around his waist.

“Ah. While you were bathing, Leliana came by with a letter. There’s a request from the Captain, of some urgency. A gang is gathering in an alley, and he believes they mean to make mischief. He is short on men and wonders if you might –” Rémi rubs the space between his brows.

“I guess I’d better get dressed,” he says.

“I’m sure any would be delighted to see you go to battle with only a towel. _I_ would be delighted,” Zevran says.

They meet Leliana and Alistair at the door downstairs. His hair is braided again, his robes neat. His staff in his hands, sword sheathed on his belt, with Brutus and Zevran flanking him. They hurry their way through the streets, down winding narrow paths, under stone bridges. “Be ready,” Rémi tells the others as they draw nearer to their target. A gate, opened, is the only thing to cross. Zevran sees it too late.

“Caro –!” but Rémi is already walking across the threshold, the gate rolling down shut behind him. Leliana has an arrow tipped, pointed between the spaces of the gate. The bandits are emerging from behind crates and walls, one looking spectacularly pleased.

“You’re all alone now, Warden. You’ll pay for killing the others,” he says. Panic caught in his throat, Zevran dives towards the gate controls nearby. Locked. Dropping his daggers, he reaches for the lockpicks on his belt. Alistair is pacing as he watches, nearly ready to start trying to knock the metal gate down with his shield. Leliana lets the first arrow fly, catching one that stands behind the leader. A warning, but they’re still growing closer. Brutus is whining, digging at cobblestone, trying to find some way to his master.

Rémi takes a deep breath. Taking his staff in both hands, widening his stance. He draws at flame, marks a line around him. It doesn’t deter them. He is one. They are many. They charge with a shout, and not even Leliana can fire arrows fast enough to stop them. “Hurry up!” Alistair yells.

“Your shouting at me will not have me do this any faster!” Zevran yells back. He’s desperately trying to find the soft spots. To hear the lock click free. Instead, all he hears is the crack of Rémi casting lightning, the shouts of effort as he tries to keep them all back. Leliana, firing arrows, sending them expertly between the spaces of the gate, around Rémi. Zevran knows he can’t look away. He can’t look. Heart in his throat, fingers trembling, and he’s turning the pick.

“Augh!” At that, Zevran does look. His heart almost drops from his chest. Rémi is grimacing as his fingers wrap around the arrow embedded in the soft flesh of his shoulder. Sweat on his brow, both from the heat of the fire and the effort of casting so many spells. His heart caught in his throat, he’s stabbing at the lock, until finally – a click, and the lock rolls free, and Zevran pushes at the lever, the gate rolling upwards. Alistair charges forward with a wild cry, drawing their attention towards him.

The fire that had marked a separation between them slowly dies as Rémi steps back, lets the others handle it. Zevran picks up his daggers, moves instantly to his side. “Are you alright?” He asks. Jaw clenched tight, Rémi only nods, casts an errant ball of flame into the pack of bandits.

“Help the others,” he says. Zevran wants to disobey. He wants to stay by his side, force him away from the battle. Instead, he charges forward. Together, they make quick work of them. Their trap was effective, if crude. Zevran forces himself not to think of what might have happened if he hadn’t gotten the lock open. Leliana is reclaiming her arrows, while Alistair sheaths his sword. Rémi has his hand wrapped around the shaft of the arrow in him, and Zevran puts his hand on his chest.

“No. Don’t pull it out yet,” he says. “Can you heal it?”

“Maybe. I need some time before I can,” Rémi says. He looks exhausted. Trying to heal it now would only leave him dead on his feet. Zevran slips an arm around his waist, and he gratefully leans against him.

“I am going to take him back,” Zevran tells Alistair and Leliana. “You should let the Captain know that the job is complete.” Brutus walks beside them, his head hung low, a slow whine escaping him every once in a while.

Safe at the inn, Rémi sits on the bed. Zevran’s pulled a chair close, the kit resting on the seat. He’s kneeling before him, carefully cutting at the robes. Pressing a cloth against the wound, he wraps his hand around the arrow. “Are you ready?” Rémi closes his eyes and nods. A quick pull, barely felt. At first. The pain sears, and Rémi’s hands clench into fists. Zevran is pushing the cloth against it, trying to stop the bleeding.

Rémi diverts enough magic towards it to heal it enough for the cloth to be pulled away. Another, dipped in water, cleaning the wound. Then, needle and string, and Zevran leans close. His stitches are neat and tidy, close together and hands steady. His face so very near, so Rémi can’t help but look at him. His heart always beats quicker at the sight of him. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, but that doesn’t hide exactly how handsome he is. He likes him for more than his looks, of course, but he knows those looks are dangerous.

“Why do you flirt with everyone?” the question bursts from him. Zevran raises his eyebrows as he ties the knot of the stitch, cuts the string carefully.

“You are asking me this now?” A pointed glance at the wound. Once Rémi had regained enough strength, he’d be able to heal it completely. For now, the stitches would have to do. It was a close call. There have been many close calls. For some reason, each one is worse than the last. Feeling as though it’s crushing his guts, churning his bones. It frightens him, Zevran realizes. How much he feels it.

“Please just answer the question,” Rémi says.

“I do not know. It is something I simply do.” Rémi shakes his head, unsatisfied with the answer.

“I think you do know. Tell me, please,” he says as he leans forward, brushes a hand against his cheek. Zevran looks up at him, eyes that study eyes, and a knot appears between his brows. He leans back, against his heels, and sighs. Hunching over, he rests his forehead against Rémi’s knee.

“I worry that perhaps, one day, you will realize you do not like me as much as you think,” he says.

“You don’t think I worry you’ll do the same?” he says as he threads fingers through Zevran’s hair. Zevran looks up at him, chin on his knee, and after a few quiet seconds, and suddenly surges forward. Wrapping arms around him, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“You scare me half to death and now you tell me you worry I will leave you! This is too much for my heart in one day, Caro,” he says, hugging him tightly. “I flirt because I am – wait – are you wearing perfume?” Taking another deep breath, his nose pressed against his neck. Leaning back, looking at Rémi.

“I – I thought you might like me more if I smelled like –” 

“A woman? You can do whatever you like, my Warden, but what I will always enjoy and prefer the most is you,” Zevran tells him. “If you wished it, you could have no shortage of suitors. But I will not let them near you.” A hand at his nape, pulling him close, and forehead pressed against forehead. “I, on the other hand, would be quite lonely without you. If you do not like the flirting, then I will stop, but you must promise to stay by my side.”

“I promise,” Rémi says as he leans forward, presses his lips against his.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


End file.
